


The Angel Room: Makael Helps Castiel

by CatherineinNB



Series: The Angel Room [22]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universes, Angels, Blood Magic, Canon Compliant, Castiel's truck - Freeform, Demon Tablet (Supernatural), Doctor Castiel (Supernatural), Episode: s14e12 Prophet and Loss, Free Will, Friendship, Fuck Destiny, Gen, Magic, Metafiction, Mythology - Freeform, Norse Mythology - Freeform, Playing Doctor, References to Norse Religion & Lore, Sam Winchester Has a Fear of Clowns, Season/Series 14, Season/Series 14 Spoilers, Veðrfölnir, World Tree, but not really, spellwork
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-23
Updated: 2019-04-23
Packaged: 2020-01-25 14:46:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18576637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatherineinNB/pseuds/CatherineinNB
Summary: Set during "Prophet and Loss," Makael attempts to help Castiel get to the bottom of what's going on with Donatello.





	The Angel Room: Makael Helps Castiel

**Author's Note:**

> **_The Context:_**  
>  Eight-and-a-half months ago, seraphim Makael, formerly of the Heavenly Choir, fled the _Supernatural_ universe after Michael arrived from Apocalypse World.
> 
> Makael had always been good at keeping to herself. It’s why she survived the intra-angel conflicts after the Great Fall. So when Michael started tracking down angels soon after his arrival, Makael decided that it was time to find a new universe to call home. Using the spell that, years ago, propelled the Winchesters into an alternate universe, Makael was ready to make a new life for herself in ours. A quiet life. A human life, much like the one she had lived after the Fall. 
> 
> Then she discovered  _ Supernatural _ .
> 
> She told herself it was boredom, it was curiosity, it was a way to keep herself apprised of events back home which prompted her to start pulling characters into our universe for interviews after each new episode of Season 14 aired. She styled herself a journalist. An interviewer. A fangirl.
> 
> But meeting the Winchesters and their extended family changed her.
> 
> Makael is no longer an angel who stays safely on the sidelines. She’s … changed. Trained, first with Ketch, and then with Castiel. She’s literally fought for the Winchesters. Used her research skills, her talent with magic, and her voice (which used to serenade God in the Throne Room) to help them.
> 
> After weeks of working with them side-by-side in the Bunker, a misunderstanding (what she would call a failure on her part) led to her return to the place where it all started, the place Sam dubbed  _ The Angel Room _ .
> 
> But Castiel finds her, and he needs her help.
> 
> She’s not about to let him down.

**_The Story:  
_ ** Everything had felt so final a few days ago.

When the door to her room had clicked fast, closing the portal to the Bunker, it felt as irrevocable as heaven’s gates slamming shut behind her during the Great Fall.

And now, just like that, she’s back.

For a being who spent millenia in one place, doing the exact same thing day in, day out, Makael sometimes finds the pace of change in the human world … dizzying.

Castiel was true to his word: they’d barely spent ten minutes in the Bunker. Just enough time for him to extinguish the sigil, gather a few items and books, and take Makael to his truck. Jack was in his room, sleeping—resting up after their trip pursuing Ketch’s lead (which had turned out to be nothing, as Castiel had feared)—and Castiel didn’t disturb him. He’d slept through the initial phone call from Sam to Castiel, alerting him to Dean’s plan, Cas’ frantic search through the lore for a way to forcibly eject Michael, and his subsequent search for Makael. 

Poor kid was exhausted. Sometimes it was easy to forget just how human he was these days … other times, like now, it was painfully obvious.

Now, as the two angels drive down the dark highway, Makael glances sideways at Castiel, watches the way the highway lights illuminate his profile, casting his features into a harsh, moving array of light and shadow. His truck’s engine growls like an angry, overworked dog, and the suspension has her jolting in her seat every time they hit a bump in the pavement.

She didn’t think she’d ever see her brother again. He’s so steadfastly loyal to the Winchesters … after what happened with Sam, she didn’t think he’d  _ want _ to see her—well, ever. She still can’t believe he’s here, or that she’s here, and she finds herself breathing deep to reassure herself that this is all real. 

The Winchesters always smell of soap and aftershave and shampoo and gun oil, sometimes with a hint of sweat or blood or magic in the mix, depending on whether or not they’d been working out, or fighting something, or working a spell. But Castiel smells totally different. He smells like angel. Like home.

The closest thing she’s come to it here on earth is the smell of a windswept meadow after a thunderstorm, the air washed clean by rain, the smell of ozone from the lightning still lingering. Angels don't smell  _quite_  like that, but it’s close, and the smell of the real thing in her nostrils now is grounding, comforting.

“I miss it too, you know,” says Castiel, breaking the silence. He glances at her briefly before returning his eyes to the road. “Being around other angels.”

Makael smiles faintly. “Am I that obvious?”

“No.” Castiel’s smile echoes her own. “I’m just doing the exact same thing. We smell different. It’s little things like that that I miss the most—that I’ve appreciated the most about having you with us.”

Makael’s shoulders tighten. “Castiel, I … I can’t stay. Once I’ve helped you, I have to go back.”  Her statement is met with silence, and she sighs. “Are you going to tell me what, exactly, I’m helping you with?”

“Sam and Dean are on a case.”

“What?”  _ That  _ has her turning fully sideways in her seat, eyes widening. “Does this mean—”

But Castiel is already shaking his head. “No. Dean hasn’t changed his mind. Sam was the one that found it. He’s stalling, trying to buy more time so he can get through to Dean.”

Makael clamps her mouth shut before she can say more. She desperately wants to prevent Sam from experiencing any more pain, but the words from the notebook in Death’s Reading Room are seared into her brain. Castiel’s still talking, unaware of Makael’s inner conflict.

“Turns out that the next prophet of the Lord was called up. But something went … horribly wrong. He started murdering innocent people, basing his kills on scripture from the Old Testament. Sam found the case after seeing that what police were calling ‘graffiti,’ carved into the victims’ skin, was actually Enochian.”

“Is Donatello—”  

“He’s alive. But still in a vegetative state. I’m thinking that might have something to do with it.”

“Antonio Alvarez,” says Makael, after a brief silence. “He was supposed to be the next prophet. Were they able to find him? Stop him?”

“Yes.” Castiel pauses, then says quietly, “And they were able to rescue the person that was going to be his third victim. But Antonio … he ended up killing himself.”

Makael lets out a slow breath. “Okay. How can I help?”

Castiel glances at her. “It’s no secret that you’re something of a prodigy when it comes to innovative Enochian magic. I’m hoping that, together, we might find a way to prevent the next prophet from being called up, and, if we can't prevent that, stop them from coming out … badly. We’re going to the nursing home where Donatello is being cared for so I can take a look at him first hand. I’d like you to examine him as well, see if I can get something of a second opinion.”

Makael listens carefully, trying to put all the pieces together. “So Sam and Dean aren’t there yet?”

“No. They will be coming, though.”

Makael nods, her thoughts running circles inside her head. “I won’t be able to stay once Sam is there. He … he won’t want me there.”

“We’ll figure it out,” says Castiel, calmly.

She gives him a long look. He keeps his eyes steadfastly on the road. Finally, she sighs, and returns to the matter at hand. “You’re afraid that, if we can't figure this out, you’re going to have to kill Donatello—aren’t you?”

Castiel’s shoulders tighten at her words. After a brief moment, he says, simply, “Yes.”

“And you already feel responsible for what’s happened, because you were the one that put him in this state in the first place.”

“Yes.”

“You know you had to, right? The way that he was, he would never have given up the information to help you find Mary and Jack willingly. They would have been lost to you forever.”

Castiel sighs. “I thought _ I  _ was supposed to be the one trying to make  _ you _ feel better about decisions you’ve made and regret,” he says, wryly.

Makael lets out a huff of air, drops her head to examine her hands, which are folded on her lap. “We make quite a pair, huh, Brother?”

“Mm.” Castiel makes a soft hum of agreement, then reaches across to her seat and takes her hand in his, giving it a slightly squeeze. “We’ll work through what’s happened between you and Sam, Makael. He usually tends to be the more level-headed one these days, but … both Sam and Dean can be volatile when they are dealing with loss, or potential loss. They’ve … they’ve lost so much over the years, so many people they love, including each other.” He gives her hand another squeeze, then releases it.

Makael looks up at him, at the continuous play of light and shadow across his face as they continue to drive. She hesitates, teetering on the edge of a decision. Then she takes the plunge. “Brother,” she says, “you should know that I went to Death’s Reading Room before Sam asked me to leave.”

“You  _ what _ ?” Shock makes Castiel’s voice come out in a bark of sound. “How—Sister, you know that angels aren’t permitted—how did you even—why did you want to—”

“I didn’t trust Billie.” Makael shrugs at the dumbfounded look Castiel turns upon her. “She’s held back information before that would have been important to know. Whether Mary was alive or dead in Apocalypse World. What ‘work’ it is that Dean and Sam need to be alive to do. I thought she might be holding back information about Michael, about the box: a way to rescue Dean after he got inside, or a different way to stop Michael.”

“How the hell did you even get in?” demands Castiel, remembering finally to keep his eyes on the road.

“The book she gave Dean that showed him how to build the box was key … literally, I suppose,” she replies.

“Sympathetic magic,” says Castiel, after a moment.

Makael nods. “I worked on the spell for weeks. And I thought I’d figured out a way to make myself invisible to any Reapers once I got there, to Death herself. I was wrong about that last bit.”

“Billie found you?”

“Yes.”

“You’re lucky you’re not in the Empty.”

Makael shivers. “I know.” Then she looks up at him again. “But I was right. She had been holding something back.” 

Castiel glances at her again, his expression sharp. “What was it?”

Makael lets out a breath, chooses her next words carefully. “There was another book. Another possible ending. I … I’m not sure if I should tell you what was in it, Castiel. Billie said that knowing a potential fate can backfire. But I don’t want to keep any more secrets. Not after …” She can’t finish the sentence, but Castiel does it for her.

“Not after Sam.” His voice is very gentle.

She nods, wordlessly. 

Castiel is silent for a long, thoughtful moment. Then he says, “Perhaps we can start with just … the broad picture. Can you tell me _anything,_ without giving the rest away?”

Makael thinks. “Maybe? I think so?”

“Okay.” Castiel gives her an encouraging look.

“There _is_ another way to get rid of Michael that doesn’t include the box. There were … we didn’t get away unscathed. People still died. Which Sam and Dean would find unacceptable, of course. But it was better than all the different ways Michael escapes Dean’s mind. She wasn’t lying about that. Those books always end in blood and ashes. So I was excited, I thought,  _maybe_ … But then everything gets so, so much worse. I … the box—even Michael escaping Dean's mind, Castiel—is so much better than what Billie showed me.”

Her brother is quiet for so long that, for a moment, she wonders if he’s going to speak at all. Then he breaks the stillness in the cab. “Okay. Here’s what we know,” he says. “Dean  _ used  _ to have hundreds—maybe even thousands—of different ways he ended up dying. Then he had one—Michael. Except it wasn’t one, it was two different fates: Michael, or the box. Now, you’re telling me that there’s Michael, the box, or something else. Correct?”

“Correct,” says Makael. “Although, there were still dozens of different ways that Dean … that Michael ended up taking over, and ending the world. It was just still the same end result: the world on fire.”

Castiel nods. “And every ending is based upon the choices that all of us make.”

“Yes.”

Castiel tips his head back slightly, glancing up at the roof of the truck before turning his gaze back to the road. “Then I say  _ fuck it _ . We already have three different endings now, and that could change with any choice that any of us makes at any point in time—three endings could become dozens, hundreds all over again.” He tightens his grip on the steering wheel, and continues, determinedly, “So. Fuck destiny.  Fuck fate. Fuck Billie and all her books, and her making you keep any more secrets. If I’ve learned anything—” He lets out a noise somewhere between a scoff and a chuckle. “If I’ve learned  _ anything  _ from my years with the Winchesters, it’s that they beat the odds. The things that are destined to happen? When they’re involved, they just  _ don’t.  _ The Mother of All Monsters—Eve—she was supposed to be huge: turn everyone in the world into her children. And she ended in a  _ diner _ , choking on phoenix ash in Dean’s blood. They stopped the Leviathans, after Chronos himself said the future was covered in black ooze, and we should all prepare for oblivion. They averted the  _ Apocalypse _ , Makael. The pre-ordained, word-of-God, end of the  _ world _ , this-is- _ it _ , Apocalypse. And it wasn’t. So this? They can beat fate again. Here. Now. With Michael.”  

Makael lets out a breath, her eyes getting big. Then she recites, softly, “Whatever you do, you will always end up here. Whatever choices you make, whatever details you alter, we will always end up … here. I win. So, I win.” 

“What?” Castiel looks at her in confusion.

“It’s … it’s what Lucifer said to Dean in ‘The End.’ When Zachariah threw Dean five years into the future, when he was trying to convince him to say yes to our Michael—to teach Dean a lesson. He—Lucifer, as Sam—killed the future Dean in a garden full of roses, wearing a white suit. It was horrible. And then our Dean found them in the garden  … and Lucifer said all of that to him. ‘We will  _ always _ end up here.’ But … it didn’t happen. The Croatoan virus. President Palin. You … the garden. Any of it. Because … because Dean Winchester decided to reunite with his brother.” She lets out an astonished laugh. “He learned the wrong lesson, and that saved the whole damn world.”

Castiel is silent for a minute. Then he says, “Like I said, if the Winchesters are involved: fuck destiny.”

Makael lets out another soft laugh, feeling like a weight is lifting from her shoulders. This time, she’s the one to take her brother’s hand and squeeze it. “Fuck destiny,” she says, with a smile.

~*~*~*~*~*~

By the time Happy Daze Retirement Home comes into view, Makael and Castiel have come up with a game plan regarding Donatello. Castiel already found a white coat in amongst the Winchester’s stash of many undercover outfits: it's one of the items he threw into the duffel back at the Bunker. While she hangs back in the truck, he introduces himself to the doctor he already spoke on the phone. The two discuss Donatello until the doctor is called away to check on another patient, and Castiel texts Makael to come inside. 

“All right,” she says, as she falls into stride beside him, “we just need clothes for me, and then the two of us can go play doctor.”

Castiel lets out an amused huff of air, and she glances up at him inquiringly. “That, uh, means something different to humans than how you intended it, Sister,” he says, the corners of his mouth twitching up.

Makael frowns. “Explain,” she orders.

He does, and she is suitably mortified. Castiel chuckles quietly at her.

With his crisp white coat on and the official air it lends him, it’s a simple thing for Makael to follow him unobtrusively into the locker area for staff and grab a pair of nurses’ scrubs and a nametag. She changes quickly, then tugs awkwardly at the pants and sleeves and wrinkles her nose at her reflection in the mirror.

“Clowns,” she says, with a shudder, looking at the bright, colorful figures on the fabric.

“Don’t tell me you’re afraid of clowns, too,” says Castiel, coming around the corner with a clipboard and some official-looking papers in one hand, as he drapes a stethoscope around his neck with the other.

“Apparently clowns kill,” quotes Makael, then shakes her head and hides a smile at her brother’s blank look. She turns from the mirror. “I’m ready,” she says. “Let’s go.”

Donatello’s room is quiet, apart from the intermittent rasp of the ventilator and the regular beeping of the monitoring equipment he’s hooked up to. 

Makael drops the duffel they’ve brought onto a chair and pulls out a knife, slicing her palm neatly before walking over to the closed door and beginning to paint runes on it.

“What are you doing?” asks Castiel.

Makael raises her eyebrows. “I’m assuming you don’t want to be interrupted,” she says. “This is a simple, ‘don’t-notice-me’ spell. It should make people walk right on past the door without opening it. What did you find out from the doctor on staff?”

“Not much,” says Castiel. “Other than his condition is deteriorating. Until recently, he was able to breathe on his own. They only intubated him a few days ago.” His eyes slide over to the rotund figure on the bed, completely still other than for the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest. “I did this to him,” he murmurs.

Makael finishes the runework and heals her palm with a low whine of golden light. She walks next to Castiel and lays a hand on his shoulder. “Because you had no other choice,” she says, quietly.

He shakes his head, sorrow chasing guilt across his face. 

“Let’s get started,” she says, after a moment.

They start by trying to figure out if Donatello still actually has “prophet of the Lord” status. It doesn’t take long to figure out that he does. The otherworldly energy fairly crackles out from him under when they pull up their angelic sight. And, despite his lack of a soul, his power as a prophet is … clean.

“I thought you said that the Demon Tablet had corrupted him,” says Makael, turning a puzzled look upon her brother.

“It did,” says Castiel. “I’m not sure what’s happened. Perhaps what I did to him wiped not just his mind, but the rest of him as well.” He looks troubled. “The corruption from the tablet was my best guess as to why the next prophet was so damaged,” he says.

Makael nods. “I was thinking the same thing.”

“I have no idea what this means.”

“Well, with his body so feeble, our next step should be to see if the power of the prophet is seeking a new host again,” says Makael. “If it is, we’ll need to block it, contain it to him. Can you help me set up?”

Castiel is an efficient assistant, and in less time than she thinks it will take she’s activating the magic. Flames flare high in the cauldron they’ve set up on the bedside table. The next moment, she’s blinking from where she’s come to rest, her butt on the cold linoleum floor and her back flat against the pale green wall.

“Makael!” Castiel rushes to her side as she rubs the back of her head, where it was slammed against the horizontal surface.  

She blinks up at him. “Huh,” she says, thoughtfully.

“Are you all right?” Castiel helps her to her feet, his blue eyes anxious. “What just happened?”

“I’m fine,” she says, furrowing her brow. “Just didn’t expect that.” She walks back over toward the bed. “I don’t think his prophet energy appreciated being … probed.” 

Castiel raises a brow at that. 

“But I think that may be a good thing. Just … let me try a couple more things quickly.”

Ten minutes later, she takes a seat beside the bed. “So,” she says, slowly, as Castiel draws up a chair beside her.

“So?” He looks at her curiously.

“I think … well, it’s all theoretical at this point, but I think that whatever wiped him clean of the corruption, it wasn’t something you did. I think it happened recently.”

Castiel gives her a quizzical look, so she keeps going.

“The doctors said that he’s been getting weaker, right? That he  _ had _ been breathing on his own, even in his vegetative state, but then they had to switch him over to a ventilator. I think … I think that whatever was going on with Antonio Alvarez, it was connected to Donatello’s physical state. As Antonio became more and more linked to the power of the prophet, it was weakening Donatello—or vice versa: as Donatello’s body failed him more and more, more of the power left him and went to Antonio. Now that Antonio is dead …”

“The power’s returned fully to Donatello.” Castiel’s eyes widen.

“Right. I was worried that it would immediately seek out the next prophet, but instead it seems to have reverted back to its original host. And it seems rather insistent on not being interfered with—hence me being thrown against the wall. It’s completely focused on him.” She pauses. “I think that when Antonio died, Donatello got something a bit like a factory reboot.” She’s rather proud of herself for that analogy; Sam had explained to her what a factory reboot was when they purchased her new cell phone. That thought brings a pang, of course, so she hurriedly pushes it aside and focuses in on the present. “In other words, when the power returned to him, it reset … everything. If you think of the corruption from the Demon Tablet as a virus, the reboot wiped it clean.”   

Castiel is looking intently at Donatello, his brow furrowed. “I wonder … I wonder if the corruption was, in part, what made the power seek out a new prophet prematurely. Sam and I were both thinking it happened because of what I did to Donatello, which led to his current state—and I’m sure that didn’t help, but …”

“It would explain a lot. The power tried to escape the … the virus. But with the old prophet still mostly alive, it couldn’t, and so Antonio got only part of the gift, which led to him forming so badly.” She hesitates, and is going to say more, when Castiel’s phone buzzes.

He reaches into his pocket, swipes the phone open, and reads the text. “It’s Sam,” he says, looking up at her. “They’re fifteen minutes out.”

Makael lets out a breath. “Then I should go,” she says, rising quickly to her feet and starting to clear away the remnants of their spellcasting. 

Castiel stands as well, his expression troubled as he watches her. Then he joins in and helps her, zipping the duffle shut when everything is tucked inside it. Meanwhile, she takes damp paper towel and wipes the runes from the doorframe, removing all traces of her blood. She tosses the paper towel in the garbage by the bed by Donatello, pauses, and leans forward to pat the unconscious man’s hand.

“Keep fighting,” she murmurs, softly. Then she turns to face her brother.

“Here are my keys,” he says, before she can say anything. “I’ll see if I can convince Dean to drive me home afterward. I think just getting him to the Bunker—getting him home—will be important.”

She nods as he presses the cool metal into her palms. “I’ll also need the feather you used to get me here,” she says, quietly.

It hurts to see the sadness in Castiel’s blue eyes. “You’re not staying.”

“No.” She shakes her head. “Not now. Not yet. I’d just be a distraction … another source of conflict. If … when you think it’s time, when you think Sam might be … can you let me know?”

“Of course,” he murmurs. He reaches into an inner pocket and pulls out a hawk’s feather, looking at it for a long moment before handing it over to her.

“Where did you find this, anyway?” she asks, not trying to hide how impressed she is. “This is millennia old. I thought the rest of the feathers had been lost to time.”

“Jack noticed the feather the first time you brought him over there. He may be almost entirely human at this stage, but he still sometimes picks up on some things.” Castiel smiles fondly to himself as Makael remembers Jack picking up the feather from the bookcases in her room, and lightly running his fingers over it. “He mentioned it to me, and I suspected what it was: a feather from  Veðrfölnir, of the World Tree.”

“‘An ash I know there stands,’” recites Makael. “‘ _ Yggdrasil _ is its name, a tall tree, showered with shining loam. From there come the dews that drop in the valleys. It stands forever green over Urðr’s well … An eagle sits at the top of the ash, and it has knowledge of many things. Between its eyes sits the hawk Veðrfölnir.’”

Castiel nods, his eyes warm. “Yes. Yggdrasil, the World Tree, which connected the Nine Worlds.” 

Makael smiles. “Many more than nine.”

“Mm.” Castiel looks down at the feather in her hands. “I … wanted to respect your privacy, but at the same time I thought that, someday, I might need to get in touch with you urgently. So I started searching for another feather. It took months, but I found one.”

“I’m glad you did.” She tucks the feather into her pocket. “I’ll leave this one on your side of the portal, Brother. In your room—” She stops, stiffens at the sound of familiar male voices down the hallway. “They’re here already?”

Castiel frowns. “Dean does drive quickly,” he says. “And they don’t know I’m already here and working on it.” He sighs, looks down at her sadly. “I’ll stall them in the hallway so you can slip out.” 

She nods, tersely, radiating tension, and he steps towards her, catching both her hands lightly with his. “Thank you, Sister,” he says. “For everything. You have been a great help this evening.”

Makael feels some of the tightness melt away at the sincerity in his blue eyes. “I’m glad I was able to assist you, Brother,” she says. Then she glances toward the shut door, raising her brows expectantly.

Castiel nods, drops her fingers, and opens the door, slipping out into the side hallway that leads to the main corridor. He leaves the door open behind him just a crack, so she can hear more clearly.

“Your uncle’s in a persistent vegetative state, being kept alive by machinery and nothing else. Sometimes, letting go is the right choice.” It’s not Castiel speaking, and the voice is still coming from somewhere down the main corridor—she’s guessing it’s the physician that Castiel talked with earlier. 

“Tell me about it.”

That’s Dean, muttering to himself, and if she’d been human, her ears wouldn’t have caught it. As it is, she swallows hard at the implication, even as the doctor continues, his voice closer than before, “Just coincidental, you all being here at the same time. Dr. Novak, meet, uh—”   

“Yes, I know. I know these gentlemen. Mr. Winchester … and the _other_ Mr. Winchester.” 

Castiel’s voice is formal, as is befitting a greeting between a doctor and relatives of a patient—but at the second ‘Mr. Winchester’ there’s an ice in his voice that Makael hasn’t heard before. Her eyes widen at the sound of it. They’d been so busy, so focused on working to figure out what’s going on with Donatello, that she hadn’t realized just how angry he is with Dean.

She doesn’t have time to dwell on it, though. It’s now or never: she’s got to go. She snatches up Castiel’s abandoned clipboard and slips from the room, shutting the door soundlessly behind her. Makael ducks her head over the papers, keeping her face averted as she enters the main corridor, keeping her shoulders rounded, instead of her usual ramrod straight posture. She doesn’t dare even glance in their direction.

Behind her she hears Sam’s voice, and her stride hitches slightly, even as she forces herself to keep walking.

“Doctor.”

Dean says it next: “Doctor.” 

Makael has a giddy moment of remembering “Changing Channels” and a similar exchange of greetings with Dr. Sexy-slash-Gabriel. It’s surreal, the juxtaposition between the humor of that scene and what’s happening now as she tries to slip past the Winchesters’ normally  _ very _ observant gazes. And of  _ course  _ she’s covered in freaking  _clowns_ ,  when Sam is mere feet away.  _ Fuck _ . 

But they’re both under a lot of stress right now, and she hears Sam continue behind her, “So, Dr. Rashad, you were saying there’s been no improvement with our uncle?”

“That’s right,” replies the doctor. “There’s no real brain activity to speak of.”

She hits the double doors that divide one section of the hallway from another, pushes through them as he continues, “Nothing beyond the occasional muscle spasm …”

The doors hush quietly shut behind her, and she can’t make out the rest of what he says.

She returns the scrubs and the nametag, donning her jeans and tee, but it isn’t until the yellow sign for the nursing home disappears from sight that she feels the tension in her muscles begin to dissipate. 

And she’s somehow still taken by surprise by the tears that spring up in her eyes, out of the blue, blurring the dark road in front of her until she blinks them away. She shouldn’t be, the way she’s been crying lately. But it was harder than she thought to walk away from the two brothers, from her own brother, even knowing how angry Sam would be if he saw her. Even knowing that what she told told Castiel is true: that right now her presence would just be a distraction, a source of unneeded conflict.

It’s both a relief and a disappointment to discover that Jack is still sleeping when she arrives back at the Bunker. She looks in on him for a moment, his face serene in repose, and her heart aches as she closes the door softly again behind her.

She goes to Castiel’s room, shuts the door, and puts the keys to the truck on his bedside table. Then, before her resolve can weaken, she takes the knife she’d automatically tucked into her boot after using it in the hospital, and slices open her palm. She begins chanting in Enochian as she uses the feather to paint the sigil on the wooden surface of the door. She puts the feather next to the keys, watches the sigil flare to ruddy orange light as the portal back to her room activates. She opens the door, takes a last glance around the Castiel’s bedroom, draws in a breath, and steps through.

**END SCENE.**

****

**Notes:**

  1. **Change:** While I was writing this entry, I thought for the first time in depth about how difficult it must have been for many of _Supernatural's_ angels to adjust to the human world. So many of them had a single purpose in heaven, and often it was very repetitive (I’m thinking, for example, of Anael and pushing the button). To do the same thing for millennia, and then to be expected to suddenly keep up with the pace of human life, with the rate of change (in addition to suddenly having free will and needing to make their own decisions)—I found myself suddenly having a new appreciation for how disorienting it all must have been for them.
  2. **Senses:** I tend to think of angels as having heightened senses when compared to humans, and I’ve alluded to this before (i.e. when Makael fights the werewolves in the cathedral on she can literally smell the fear coming off the humans fleeing the sanctuary as an “assault of pheromones and sweat on her angelic senses”; she’s able to hear Death speaking to Dean before human ears could have made out the words; she has a strong reaction to the way that Sam smells at various points). However, this is the first time that I’ve talked about what angels might smell like to one another. I tend to think of them as energy, since they are, after all, “multidimensional wavelengths of celestial intent,” and the closest thing I could think of to _smelling_  pure energy is the way the air smells after an intense thunderstorm has passed through.
  3. **Fuck Destiny** : A while ago I was watching a special feature on the _Supernatural_ Season 4 DVD. The interview with the writers included a shot of the Writers' Room, where they had literally written out the overarching plot for S4 around the entire space on whiteboards. Because I’m a writing geek, I screenshotted that shit. And one of the things that stood out to me was this story point: (If you are having trouble with seeing the whole image, which seems to be only partially showing in the main document here, just right click and hit "Open image in new tab" and it should come up in its entirety. But, if for some reason it doesn't, the entire point says, "Dean convinces Cass to disobey + help him - FUCK DESTINY.") Honestly, those last two words to me stood out as basically what the entire series boils down to: “Fuck destiny.” Because that’s what the Winchesters end up doing, time and time again. They look at what is “supposed to be” and basically go, “NOPE” and change _everything_. So that’s been rattling around in the back of my brain for the last few months, and halfway through the writing the conversation with Cas and Em in the truck, I realized I had just directly quoted it. So I went back and refocused the entire dialogue to more directly mirror what was on the whiteboard in the Writers’ Room all those years ago (also, I’m pretty sure that’s Kripke’s writing, which … gah. Fangirling).
  4. **Demon Tablet Viruses:** I hope the additional explanation regarding Donatello's return to his normal, non-evil self, was enjoyable/believable. I found the explanation behind this turn of events kinda lacking in the actual episode (although I was extremely grateful for it, because I really liked Donatello and was sad about what had happened to him). I had a lot of fun trying to think through how and why he would have gotten free of the corruption from the Demon Tablet, especially with no soul to help him.
  5. **Veðrfölnir:** Sometimes, as a writer, happy coincidences happen. When I first mentioned the hawk’s feather on Makael’s bookshelf in _The Angel Room_ , it was purely for decorative purposes (I have one in my study that I found during a walk, and I think it’s beautiful). Later, I decided that the hawk feather was the magical artifact that she used to open the portal between universes. While writing this entry, I was trying to think about how Castiel would have been able to find another feather, and in the course of doing so I began researching hawks in mythology. I stumbled upon Veðrfölnir, and his association with the World Tree. I’m generally familiar with Norse mythology, but hadn’t heard of Veðrfölnir before. Turns out, he only appears in one place, in the prose version of the _Edda_ , which was written in Iceland by Snorri Sturluson around 1220. Makael actually quotes both the prose _Edda_ and the poetic _Edda_ ( which is found in a collection of Icelandic poems from about 1270 called the _Codex Regius_. Like much extant epic poetry, the poems themselves are much older than the collection in which they are found, and Sturluson actually quotes some of these poems in his prose _Edda_ ). In any case, I was SO DAMN EXCITED to find a mythological hawk who was associated with something (the World Tree, also called Yggdrasil) that connected multiple worlds together. Happy. Damn. Coincidence. 
  6. **Killer Clowns:** The “apparently clowns kill” quote is from Sam in Season 2, Episode 2, “Everybody Loves a Clown,” which is the first time we are introduced to Sam’s ongoing fear of clowns. And, to put it bluntly, Sam's fear of clowns cracks me up. Here’s the original exchange between Sam and Dean: **Dean:** Well, I know what you’re thinking, Sam. Why did it have to be clowns? **Sam:** Oh, give me a break. **Dean:** You didn’t think I’d remember, did you? I mean, come on, you still bust out crying whenever you see Ronald McDonald on television. **Sam:** Well, at least I’m not afraid of flying. **Dean:** Planes crash! **Sam:** And apparently clowns kill!
  7. I love little nods to earlier episodes within the series, so I squeed like crazy over the “Doctor”/“Doctor” exchange during this episode. I also loved that it was a callback to Dean fanboying and being all flustered by his interaction with Dr. Sexy—and, you know, Cas in a white coat? Who wouldn’t fan the fuck out? So I had to have Makael pick up on it—even in the midst of what is, for her, a very tense situation.



All right. That’s it for this entry. Hope you enjoyed!  


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